Regis
by Cattleman
Summary: In their youth, the White Reaper and the One-Eyed Owl first met as enemies. Then they decided to save the world and read books together. [Arima x Eto. This story starts before the original series and will continue into :re. Rating is subject to change]
1. Leviathan

**Credit for the fantastic cover image goes to Almighty Zency. You can find this talented artist under the name 'Zencelot' on Deviantart.**

Chapter 1: Leviathan

"Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under water, unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure... Consider all this; and then turn to this green, gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself?"

-Herman Melville, _Moby Dick_ (1851)

* * *

Her short legs were crossed and her hands rested on her knees. Eto sat at the top of a stone stair, before the sealed doors of a long-abandoned Shinto shrine. She listened intently to the duet formed by the sound of birdsong and the sound of tree leaves moving in the wind, and relished in the sensation of the cool evening breeze on her skin as it lapped at her neck and face. Though filthy and drab, the cotton robe she wore kept the rest of her body comfortably warm in the draft.

Then the wind died down. She yawned and raised her lithe arms to stretch.

Concealed within a forgotten patch of woodland in the 2nd Ward, this clearing—and the shrine in it—was visited chiefly by birds, though Eto did at times see deer munching at the grass nearby. She liked animals, because they did not complain about how hungry they were getting, or argue loudly with each other about pointless things, or chase after her with murder in their eyes and threats on their tongues.

On the other hand, ghouls and humans did all of the above and more.

So, it was good to relax for a bit in this no-woman's-land, far from the world and its tiring, violent foibles. Eto liked how the clearing dimmed and turned orange as the sun went down, and the way light filtered through the treetops and emerged into the shrine as neat, slanting rays. Though irreligious—as was tradition with ghouls—Eto still appreciated the red shrine before her; not for the shrine's cultural or artistic significance, but for the shelter that the stout roof could offer.

She wanted to spend the night here, out in the wilderness and beneath the stars, which beat the disgusting hovel she usually spent her sleepless nights in by a mile. She knew there was a chance that the band of delinquent ghouls she led about and played mother to would kill each other overnight without her around to keep the peace, but she could not bring herself to care at the moment; she was due for a vacation.

From behind her came a very faint rustling; the noise that something or someone would make as they moved through long grasses. It was barely discernible amidst the tree leaves whistling. Probably just the wind blowing, Eto thought, as she rose from her seat. But, ever cautious, she turned to allay her suspicions that the sounds were more than what she guessed them to be.

A white figure stood there amidst the unkempt grass and pockets of wild flowers, watching her. He gleamed faintly in the twilight sun.

"Good evening, miss," he said courteously. From beneath a short curtain of dark hair, a pair of dark-silver glasses glinted up at her. Alarmed, she examined his appearance in detail; a collared shirt and black tie worn under a belted white coat, and a harmless-looking steel suitcase gripped in his left hand. Obviously a dove, who had perhaps caught sight of her on her way to the shrine, and found her suspicious enough to warrant following.

She would have to remember to be more careful in the future. But it seemed her carelessness had proved convenient this time; as much as she enjoyed meditating, she was a wild one and grew bored easily, so it was fortunate that she could now entertain herself with this dove. And besides, it had been a few days since she had helped herself to a decent meal.

"Good evening, yourself," Eto replied, as she glanced over the rest of the forested shrine around the newcomer. No shimmer from other white coats, and it seemed as if he had not yet decided that she was a ghoul. So she could play with her food before eating it. "Can I help you, mister?"

"No thank you," he said, "I've already found what I'm looking for."

"And what's that?"

"The One-Eyed Owl."

Eto's expression darkened, and her right pupil glowed bright crimson within blackening sclera. The muscle between her shoulder blades pulsed as her kagune emerged from her body, swinging outward with such tremendous momentum that a gust of wind blew forward, and birds spooked by the disturbance quickly fluttered out of the trees. Both of the great pale limbs protruding from Eto's back were lined haphazardly with sharp, branching protrusions, like twisting albino trees. Too starved to use her kakuja, Eto concluded that she did not need it to kill a lone investigator anyway.

She flexed her kagune so that it stretched out like the wings of a monstrous Owl. "Clever, clever little dove. So, where's the rest of your flock hiding?"

"The proper term is 'dole'. 'Dole' of doves. I didn't bring one with me." He raised a finger to adjust his glasses, which the burst of wind had knocked slightly askew. "In fact, none of my associates know I am here."

"Seriously? So you went looking for the Owl, a wanted ghoul that made a joke of even your top investigators, without asking for any help?"

"Correct."

"Are you tired of life or something?" asked Eto, wondering how someone so stupid managed to earn enough promotions to carry a quinque.

"No. With your record, bringing other investigators would only result in unnecessary casualties."

"How bold of you to come here alone then," Eto giggled, "but thanks, I'm flattered. You know, eating your friends isn't easy. Muscle is stringy and tough, so most doves are hard to chew. But you on the other hand, you look... soft."

He maintained his distant, sleepy-looking stare, as if he paid no attention to her boasting. Indeed, he did look notably younger than most investigators; Eto guessed his age to be 20, at the most. Only several years older than herself.

"Mhm, very soft," Eto continued, purring. "I'll do my best to leave your head in one piece, investigator. Or at least your face. You're much, much cuter than those burly old guys."

Still no reply, and the same bored expression. Eto felt a pang of annoyance; her gruesome talk failed to disturb him. She watched as her visitor busied himself with undoing the locks on his briefcase. It fell away and a thin, white blade appeared in its stead, attached firmly to a thick round guard and a curved hilt. Eto found this weapon more fascinating than other quinques she had seen, most of which were simply kagune pieces welded to steel poles.

"Ooooh, that's a cool quinque. Does it have a name?"

"Narukami."

From the west, another breeze entered the fray, and the leaves chirped in place of the absent birds. A misshapen ball of desiccated plants bounced along through the grass, drawing an imaginary line between the Owl and the dove.

The Owl hopped forward from atop the stair and crossed over that line. Her tattered grey robe billowed about her tiny frame as she loosed several long spikes at her opponent, who calmly watched as the falling projectiles closed in on him. All of a sudden the investigator shifted his feet and dashed far to the side, and the spikes embedded themselves harmlessly into the spot where he stood only a moment ago. He sprinted on, circling tightly around the Owl, who had landed to meet him on the grass.

"Ahaaa! Fly, little dove!" The Owl laughed. A rapid volley of spikes flew in a wide arc as she traced her target's movements. But he moved too quickly, and her quills continued to miss and embed themselves in tree trunks and earth. Now and then, his intricate quinque flashed and hummed in a skilled moulinet to deflect more precise missiles.

Soon, her kagune ran dry of its spears. Her opponent slowed his pace to a brisk walk and headed straight for her, wrist and blade pointed down as if he held a walking cane. Eto could not believe what she was seeing; most ghouls were unable to dodge her swarming quills for long without taking a hit or two, and yet this dove had evaded all of them with little effort.

With a frustrated cry, Eto barreled forwards to meet him; now she wanted to tear that obnoxiously calm face into shreds. She closed their distance and swung with fierce confidence at her foe, sweeping wide so that he could not dash away. Alas, her kagune clawed through thin air; the dove vanished from sight. The Owl recovered quickly, tried to turn, and lost her balance as her right leg gave way.

Stumbling, she glanced down. Most of her knee and the right side of her abdomen had been sheared off.

Eyes wide with shock, Eto lifted a hand and bit down on it to stop herself from panicking. Blood filled her mouth and its sweetness distracted her from the agony radiating through her wounds. All of a sudden, there was a loud crackling, followed by the darkened clearing suddenly growing bright, and the sound of something massive rushing through the air. Eto glanced over her shoulder and balked at the golden thunderbolt soaring her way.

Thinking fast, she propelled herself upwards, jumping clear of the projectile, and collided into the shrine as she mistimed her landing. The shrine doors were ripped from their hinges, and Eto fell with them in a heap. She wanted to close her eyes. She didn't dare.

She tossed her head up, and saw the dove standing there in the grasses, Narukami aimed towards the ground. The quinque had transformed; the blade had split apart at the guard into four long prongs, between which sparks of electricity pulsed and flew. Then he leveled it at her again, and the weapon hummed and shook with power. The Owl braced herself as she crossed her kagune into a makeshift shield. It held against the blast, but shuddered and creaked, and the force of the impact trailed down and tugged at Eto's shoulder blades.

There was another peal of thunder, and Eto readied herself for the next storm as she grew despondent. It was all so horribly confusing. She did not understand how her enemy moved with such impossible agility, or how he had cut her apart without her even noticing, or how his quinque fired _lightning_. But when the next thundering burst finally defeated her kagune and tossed its immobile arms up into the trees, Eto did understand that she was going to die.

With her last line of defense gone, she propped herself up on her good knee; it was all she could do to preserve some of her dignity in the face of death, who stood tall and pale and merciless at the foot of the stairs. As the adrenaline that fueled her will to fight ebbed away, Eto wanted to scream and curse her fate, but could not find the energy to do so. So she sighed, cursing herself quietly for fighting recklessly and for not being able to use her kakuja.

She watched as his quinque's prongs joined together again. The long blade returned, and Eto bowed her head.

And so ends my miserable tale, she mused. The tale of a friendless little girl, abandoned at birth by her family and left to fend for herself in a perverted world that despised her kind. But perhaps her life had all just been one long nightmare, and soon she would awaken somewhere better.

"What are you waiting for?" Eto called weakly, through dry cracked lips. "You've won. Stop wasting time and come finish the job." She no longer felt fear or remorse, or even anger; just indescribably strange. Her tongue felt unfamiliar and alien as it rubbed at her blood-caked teeth. Her eyelids felt thick and fat as she opened and closed them with effort.

She waited for the executioner to ascend the block. Eto counted the seconds as they passed, wondering what number she would land on before she would hear the first thud of his shoe on the step. 5, then 10. And then on to 15...

That sound never came. Instead, her resigned counting was interrupted by the dove's voice.

"Few ghouls dare to attack the CCG in its own guarded territory," he lectured, "and those who do tend to die quickly. But you, Owl, have led several attacks, each of which was organized and successful, and cost the CCG dearly."

Eto remained silent.

"It's clear that you're no ordinary ghoul. I know that. What I want to know is why you fight the CCG."

What a stupid question, Eto thought. Then she realized she had no clear answer to it.

"Yes. I want to know the reason you fight."

"A reason...?" she asked, as she lifted her head. Her weary, half-lidded eyes found the frost-cold stare of the man who held her fate in his hands, and she saw that his eyes were no longer blank and unfocused; now they were firmly set on her, and gleamed with expectation.

Eto decided it would be nice to be sincere for once.

"Because..." she trailed off, struggling through a haze of exhaustion to find the right words to describe her motivation. She finished her answer with renewed resolve in her voice. "...I want to take this fucked up, piece of shit world, fuck it up even more, and then give it a factory reset."

Silence, and a long pause. The dove's eyes lost their focus and went dull again. Eto wondered if her words had disappointed him, or if they were profound enough to give him something to think about. It did not really matter to her anymore.

"I see," said the dove, finally. The corners of his mouth curved up into a smirk. "That's great."

"Fine. Go ahead and mock me," Eto said in resignation. "It's not like I can do anything about it."

"I'm not mocking you," he replied. He did sound genuine, and it looked as if there was a spark of approval in his eyes. "I really do think that's great, because I want this world to change, too."

The investigator lifted his head and held his gaze up into the sky, as if he suddenly caught sight of something captivating beyond the treetops. Eto looked up with him, and saw that the orange sky had since turned a deep shade of blue, streaked with hints of gold. Hundreds of piercing bright stars peeked out from everywhere in the void, and Eto likened them to brilliant gemstones that gleamed defiantly from the depths of some bleak ocean. That sky was far more beautiful than the world she stood on. Eto looked away.

"Have you heard of 'V'?" The investigator asked, still observing the starry twilight.

"I have," Eto replied. He raised his brows, as if it surprised him to hear that. Eto continued. "My... mother. She knew about V. She went after them to find out more about who they really are, and they killed her for it."

"I see." A brief pause. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

Eto said nothing. By the fading light of dusk, she could just make out the outlines of his sharp, practically androgynous features, and the firm chin beneath his black hair. Now Eto believed he looked almost like an elf, or at least somehow otherworldly. And having caught a glimpse of the power that his youthful appearance belied...

Strangely, she thought he was beautiful.

"V believes that they hold the world in their hands," the dove continued, dragging her back to cruel reality. "They think they sit unopposed on their imaginary throne, and that from there, they can control humans and ghouls forever." His gaze and voice were steel again, and he looked back at Eto. "I want to prove them wrong by purging the world of their influence. I'm determined to do so."

"How inspiring," Eto commented flatly, doing her best to sound completely uninspired, "but I don't know why you're telling me all this."

"Because I've decided that we can help each other."

"Help each other?" repeated Eto. For a moment she puzzled over his words and weighed the meaning behind them, and then she sneered unpleasantly. "So you're turning your back on the CCG, then? And how can a dead little ghoul girl help you, anyway?"

"Firstly, you're not going to die," he replied dismissively. "Not today, since I can see that your vision is in line with my own." He reached down into the grass and retrieved his briefcase. With a snap, his quinque was locked back into its shell. Eto released a breath she did not know she had been holding.

"And, about the CCG?" the dove continued. "You're correct. I am betraying them, because I want to bring them to heel as well. The Washuu clan are lapdogs of V."

He paused for a moment to allow Eto to digest this fact in silence. Though it was astonishing, she found it oddly plausible too, and raised no questions. He went on.

"You are the hope of ghouls everywhere, Owl, because your example shows that the CCG is not infallible or undefeatable," he explained. "More and more ghouls will rally to your cause. When that happens-"

"We'll have raised a ghoul army the likes of which have never been seen before," Eto finished, "and with the power of that army, we'll destroy the CCG, and flush V down the drain with it."

He nodded. "Well said."

Eto ruminated on this plot. She still harbored reservations about him and his intentions, and a bit of stubborn animosity towards him as well; he had sliced her apart like a piece of meat and humiliated her. Yet she could not deny that his offer was interesting, and an alliance sounded effective. Perhaps effective enough to actually make a difference.

"Okay, fake dove. Count me in," Eto finally announced. "Let's work together."

"That's very good to hear." He smiled faintly as he placed his free hand on his chest in a gesture of introduction. "My name is Kishou Arima. What's yours?"

Ari _ma_. Horse. Plus, he wore white, so he was a 'pale horse', like the spectral beast ridden by Death in the Bible. Eto found it eerily appropriate.

"...My name is Eto," she said reluctantly, after a moment of reflection.

"You don't have a surname?"

"I have one. But it's not worthy of me," Eto spat. "I would use my mother's name if I knew it. But I don't."

"Understood," Arima said. He looked at the shrine, squinting hard through his glasses. Eto wondered why, since it was not yet dark enough to obscure eyesight.

"In one week," he declared, "meet me here again at six in the evening. Be very certain that you aren't followed this time. There's much that we need to discuss: plans to make, and questions to answer. I expect that there are still things that you aren't certain about regarding me, or this sudden partnership."

"Yeah, a few things," Eto admitted, bristling slightly at his mention of her carelessness. "One week. Six o'clock. I'll be here."

"Very well. Until then, good luck." He gave a firm nod, then turned away to depart. Eto glared after him. She was not finished yet.

"Oi, investigator."

Arima stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Tell me, how did you know that I'm the One-Eyed Owl?"

"That's a long story," Arima answered, "which I will save for another time. Just more incentive for you to come, isn't it?"

Eto rolled her eyes. "I guess."

"Then goodbye, Eto," he said, as he went on his way. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Eto's frown broke into a sarcastic chuckle. Arima walked off into the shaded woods and disappeared into the shadows. With her guest gone, she carefully lifted herself off her knee and sat on her rear, wincing as she inspected the injuries she had sustained in battle.

Shortly after, it became night. The musical clapping of leaves had long since been drowned out by the growing din of chirping crickets. Utterly spent, Eto relaxed and leaned her head back against a wall of the shrine. She gazed up into that vast, jeweled ocean, and pictured herself lying idly on a raft made of books. There, she would be able to read and write in peace forever, her only company being the crisp starlight and the resonant songs of whales in the mysterious deep.

With the pain of her injuries lessened enough to become bearable and her flesh knitting back together, there was nothing that obligated Eto to stay awake anymore. Go to sleep already, she thought, they're healing well. She closed her eyes.

"See you later, Kishou Arima," Eto muttered, contemplating the way the syllables of his name rolled off her tongue. He was strange. Even his name sounded strange. Yet she could not deny that, for some reason, their talk had left a pleasant warmth in the pit of her stomach. She was not able to name that warmth, either. Perhaps it was the mythical thing called 'hope'?

Eto dozed off.

 **Thank you for reading. Please leave feedback!**


	2. Siren

**Hello again! Thank you in advance for reading.**

Chapter 2: Siren

"When you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody."

-J.D. Salinger, _The Catcher in the Rye_ (1951)

* * *

Loud, unintelligible shouting erupted from somewhere outside of Eto's room, and roused her from sleep. She opened her eyes to a thick darkness that seemed to smother her mouth and nose, leaving her breath constricted. Her confusion settled as soon as she lifted the book covering her face and tossed it away on to the bed, then rubbed her eyes slowly to clean the film off of them. With her vision cleared, she stared up at her room's ceiling, and frowned at the strips of paint that had peeled off and now hung down. The room was devoid of light, and in the darkness the hanging strips looked like the misshapen tongues of some demonic horde.

Just another day in paradise, Eto thought with bitter sarcasm.

The yelling continued on, growing angrier and frantic, and more irksome. As Eto removed herself from bed, she saw the faintly glowing slits in her weathered curtains, and glanced at the cracked digital clock sitting by her bed. 5:22 AM. Far too early for her to be up, and once awake she did not easily fall asleep again. Eto fumed as she walked over to her door and threw it open. Through the cracked, filth-encrusted windows of the apartment hallway, she first saw a dark-blue brightening sky over a blinking lit city.

The offenders were easily identified as a trio of ghouls standing by the stairwell down the hall. There were two younger ghouls, a chubby one with a shaved head and a thin one sporting bright green hair. With them was a tall older ghoul with shaggy hair and a lit cigarette in his mouth. Eto recognized them respectively as Dango, Eiji, and Ikeda; each was a member of her ragtag crew. The eldest ghoul, who Eto traced the vast majority of shouting to, held Eiji by the neck up against the wall as Dango ineffectively pleaded him to let go.

It was clear that Ikeda was accosting the younger ghouls for something that Eto guessed was completely unimportant to her. Now it was time to shut them up.

"Hello, boys," Eto said with mock cheer as she walked over to them, looking pointedly at Ikeda; as one of the gang's more powerful ghouls, Ikeda usually acted haughty and proud around the rest of the group, even those that outranked him in strength and influence. True, he was of great help when meat ran low, but with that helpfulness came a flippant attitude and mood swings, which placed him at constant odds with everyone else.

In fact, Eto _really_ did not like him. It rather pained her to admit that keeping him around was necessary.

Upon noticing her, Ikeda rolled his eyes and shrugged, then released Eiji from his grip. On the other hand, the sight of the tiny leader's sleepy eyes and tangled hair instantly paralyzed the other two ghouls with fear. As soon as he was free, Eiji muttered a quick and unintelligible apology in Eto's direction, and then slipped off down the stairwell. Dango dismissed himself just as quickly, leaving Ikeda and Eto alone.

Ikeda watched his victims flee with a lazy smirk, then trotted over towards Eto. Smiling hideously back at one of her least favorite ghouls in the world, Eto noted his odd gait and glanced down at his cheap leather boots; to appear taller and more dominant than her, he stood up on his toes, despite the fact that he already dwarfed her by a foot. Pathetic.

"Morning, Eto," Ikeda greeted. "Sorry 'bout that. Stupid kids stole a pack of my cigarettes, so I-"

"Don't really care," Eto interrupted, still smiling from ear to ear.

"Yep, I thought so." Ikeda put an arm against the cracked wall beside her. As he breathed out, the scent of tobacco accentuated the foulness of his breath.

"Still, you don't have to be so cranky, boss," Ikeda practically spat the last word, as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "Just telling you how it is. You know, I could have just ran off like the others."

"Back up a bit, will you?" Eto asked, ignoring the advice. "Your breath is disgusting."

Ikeda said nothing as he obeyed. Now he wore a frown, which Eto knew belied the swiftly rising temperature of his fiery mood. Then, she recalled that Ikeda was dimmer and more temperamental than the average ghoul, and it wouldn't take much effort for her to have some fun at his expense.

"Now that I can breathe again," Eto continued. "I can express my appreciation. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to explain why you were so ungraciously disturbing everyone's rest. If there's nothing else, you may leave."

She gestured towards the stairs with a wave.

"So, run along now."

Theatrical and overzealous, but it did its job; the hunter was insulted by what he perceived to be belittling talk.

"Hey, kid," Ikeda said, his voice rising, "do you think using smart words like that makes you better than me, or something?"

Eto said nothing. She merely crossed her arms, and smirked knowingly as his tantrum ran its course. She expected that the ensuing fireworks would be very entertaining.

So it came as a bit of a surprise to her when Ikeda advanced, and his filthy nails dug into her shoulders. "Stop smiling like that. I'm talking to you-"

Eto reached up and trapped his bulky wrists in her petite hands. At the same time she aimed a firm kick at his knee, bringing him down so that his face was level with hers.

"What the hell?" Ikeda hollered.

"Don't touch me, punk," Eto said. While Ikeda squirmed and panicked, she was the very image of merriment; the violence was refreshing, and filled her young wild heart with joy. Her vise-like grip tightened a bit more as her quarry tried in vain to free itself, and she relished in the popping noises that went off as tendons threatened to snap beneath her grip. The hunter's moans of pain grew louder.

"You know," Eto said, "you're _very_ lucky that we still need you to hunt, because otherwise, I'd have killed you a dozen times over by now, you disrespectful piece of trash."

It was not clear if Ikeda heard her over the sound of his strained grunts. Meanwhile, his hands had turned an unhealthy shade of purple. His failed efforts to free himself had tired him out.

"What is it?" Eto tilted her head and grimaced with mock sympathy. "Can't pull yourself out of a teenage girl's grip? How very sad."

With that, she tossed him forcefully, and he landed hard on his back.

"Screw off, _kid_ ," Eto sneered, as Ikeda clumsily got back on his feet. "If I see your ugly face again today, I'll tear it off and eat it in front of you."

She was not joking. Ikeda knew this, but pushed his luck anyway.

"You one-eyed bitch! You're crazy!" Ikeda yelled. His kakugan flashed in his fury.

With a giggle, Eto manifested her own kakugan. The single menacing eye leered at Ikeda from beneath her green brow.

"You're totally right. I'm crazy." Eto took a single step forward. "Why don't we find out _how_ crazy?"

Without another word, Ikeda turned and fled. Eto chuckled at the hilarious way he waddled down the stairs while cradling his flopping wrists against his stomach.

With the matter settled, Eto turned and walked back to her room as she wondered when the next time she would have to keep the peace would be. As always, she hoped it was never; mothering so many brats and man-children at once was tiring work. So tiring, in fact, that she had stopped bothering to remember most of the gang's names some time ago. She wasn't even sure if the names she gave the two younger ghouls just now were their actual names. Either way, they were probably close enough.

She sighed as she reached her door. The heated darkness hit her in the face once she walked in and then wrapped her body into its infuriating hug as she closed the door behind her.

At the moment, her tiny room seemed even more disgusting than usual; she had neglected to open a window before falling asleep the previous night, so her dingy room had become oppressively warm. Eto grimaced as she realized that her mattress was drenched, and her room reeked of sweat.

Shaking her head, she walked over and pulled open one of the grimy windows. A necklace of cool morning air rushed in and soothed her neck and chest, and it was so relieving that it almost made the cracked roads and trashed wilderness outside a welcome sight.

The sun was quickly rising, and now enough of its light filtered through to illuminate most of the small room. With her woes momentarily forgotten, Eto looked with admiration at the misshapen column of books on her bedside table; it stood tall and silent like an austere watchtower. The books were primarily Western fiction, since she found the foreign writing styles interesting, and the concepts amusingly dark.

These beloved novels had all been obtained from the bookstores that Eto had visited in the past. Some of the books had been shoplifted, and others had been purchased with hard-earned (still purloined) money. However, to her the books were far more than mere possessions; they were more like magical relics. When she read a good book, she imagined herself as a privileged girl who could behold nameless sea monsters with Lovecraft, or meet with mysterious and deadly strangers with Poe. Yet H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe were only two of her hosts, for she had a whole crew of authors that each offered their own unique pleasures.

Additionally, when Eto became this other girl, she lived under a different name too: Sen Takatsuki. And, while it seemed nigh impossible at this point, Sen Takatsuki hoped to show the world her own literary work one day. Her manuscript lay beneath her bed, hidden beside the old diary left to her by her mother. She had drafted and outlined most of her story in a fit of passion one night, when she had read the last word of one of Franz Kafka's works and shut the book with a resounding _thud_. She could not remember which one, however; was it _The Trial_? Or was it _The_ _Metamorphosis_?

Either way, she was busier these days and had put her writing aside to focus more on voracious reading. Just last night, she indulged in the dystopian fruits of George Orwell's _1984_. How she enjoyed it! The novel was especially charming in its bleakness; the oppressive government depicted in the text reminded her of the secretive authority that subjugated her kind, and the rebellion that the protagonist hoped to join was oh so reminiscent of the gunpowder keg that she and her new acquaintance hoped to ignite.

Which reminded her that at last, the day of their second meeting had arrived. Her pride had not yet recovered from his thorough whipping (Eto did not know if it ever would), but Kishou Arima and his ideas were fascinating, and encountering him had undeniably brought a spark into the boring life she currently led. Though a staunch pessimist, Eto could not help but wonder if her fight against the oppression of ghouls would finally bear fruit.

Either way, she had too much time on her hands at this moment. With a dozen hours still left until her appointment with the investigator, Eto plopped herself back on to bed and pondered what she would read to kill time.

* * *

It was nearly four in the afternoon when Eto set out. After the early morning, the sky had turned a foreboding shade of grey, so she threw on her raincoat in preparation for showers. Once a bright, nearly pink shade of red, repeated use had worn down the color of the coat and turned it dull, though Eto found that the darker red was less obnoxious.

Earlier, as she reviewed select excerpts from random novels, Eto made the sudden decision to bring her mother's diary along. Normally, she did not dare to carry it for fear of losing it, but this was a special occasion, and there was a good chance that Arima would be able to tell her more about her mother's research. At the very least, she figured, it would make for an interesting conversation piece. The book was zipped securely in one of her coat pockets.

She set out from the ugly tenement she lived in without saying a word of goodbye to the others, in part because she hadn't seen anyone while leaving. Eto guessed that by now, everybody had heard Ikeda rant about how hostile she had been in the morning, and while the smarter ghouls probably brushed him off, the others took the news to heart, and had decided to avoid her just to be sure that no one incurred her wrath.

It hardly mattered to her. Actually, Eto liked being feared.

The surrounding area was a wasteland of overgrown farmland and garbage dumps. While the life offered by this place was far from luxurious, Eto and the band of starry-eyed young ghouls that followed her could not do better. Though filthy and in ruins, the abandoned building that they found at least offered a roof over their heads, and the nooks and crannies of the wasteland offered plenty of hiding spots for those who wanted to stay hidden.

Which meant that this place was an attractive hideout for other ghouls as well. The lack of human meat out here meant that ghouls were forced to consume each other to avoid starvation. So, to an extent, the way of life here reminded Eto of her childhood in the 24th ward.

The girl kept a close eye on the yellowing patches of grass around her as she walked along, tracing the route to the woods which held the forgotten shrine. Though watchful, the Owl was in relatively good spirits, and whistled to herself as she trotted along. Now and then, she cast a quick look over her shoulder to make certain that nobody was following her.

Long minutes passed into an hour. Eto grew bored, and began to hope that something or someone would come out of hiding so that she could kill it for sport. Sadly, the walk continued to be uneventful, and the gloomy overcast sky did not help to make things less dull. Then the clouded grey sky turned dark, and a crack of thunder sounded from overhead. Glassy beads of rain began to fall from the sky, and roll off the drapes of Eto's patchy coat.

The faint _pitter patter_ and the gentle lather of rain on her sweat-matted hair distracted her from how tedious the journey was. Eto decided not to pull her hood up.

At last, she saw the way that would take her directly to the shrine; it was a path that veered off the asphalt roads and into the woods. Once neatly paved with cut stone, time and nature had taken its toll on the path and left it in ruins. Now, two weathered stone lanterns clearly marked what was once the first step of the passage. Thunder roared again as Eto walked over to the path, and she sighed with relief at the fact that she was finally close to the end of her trip.

How did I have the patience to walk this far in the first place? Eto wondered. She left the main road and headed towards the forest.

Another sudden clap of thunder, but this one sounded different, and did not seem to come from the sky. The noise was higher in pitch, and the image of a thousand crying swallows, all rushing towards a single mark at once, was brought to Eto's mind.

And while the wind and rain muddled it, the metallic odor of blood that now filled the air was unmistakable. Curious, Eto glanced warily around as her pace turned brisk. The iron smell grew more tantalizing as she neared the border of trees. Now, she recognized the very particular notes in the scent: it was ghoul blood, and it was quite fresh. From the thick sweetness that saturated the air, she could tell that it was more than a few ghouls being killed, too.

"Oh, Hell yes!" Eto chirped, and she picked up her pace, intent on seeing some of the bloodshed firsthand.

Once beneath the trees, she quickly found the source of the stench. Streaks of blood— as if spattered from slash wounds—colored the ancient stone steps, and Eto spotted corpses scattered about. The body of an aged, bearded ghoul sat propped against a nearby tree, and Eto knelt down to examine what she guessed was the killing wound: he had been cleanly sliced open from neck to navel. Eto glanced at the other two corpses that lay nearby. Each ghoul had been expertly slaughtered with thin, precise cuts.

On the other hand, several of the surrounding trees bore uneven gouges and ugly notches, and the base of one leaning tree had been reduced to mere pulp, as if a great hammer had smashed it. If the scene of this massacre had been illustrated on a canvas, Eto mused, then the wounds on the corpses and the damage on the trees would have been painted by two separate artists.

Just then she heard a yell, followed by a storm of galloping footsteps from up ahead. Eto hopped off the marked trail and silently stalked into the bushes like a cat. Peering through the vegetation, Eto found the commotion at last.

In the clearing before her, she saw Arima. He was a white shape caught in a red hurricane of cruel gnashing blades. A small pack of wild ghouls were upon him like rabid dogs, and by the looks of them, they were practically feral with starvation already. The beasts taunted and howled as they struck again and again with a ruthless effort that would have easily overwhelmed most investigators.

But this dove was not like most investigators. Almost lazily, he directed the blade of his quinque into the directions of their strikes, and leapt and rolled around attacks that he could not deflect in time. He parried, dodged, and parried on into a gracefully fluid dance. Now and then, Arima redirected the momentum of a blocked hit into a riposte that warded off another swing aimed for him, leaving the attacker reeling from the force of the defense.

All the while, the investigator held his head down in concentration.

Eto watched in delighted amazement. This performance was entertaining enough that she wished she had some popcorn to go with it. The rush of quickened breathing, the thudding of rapid footsteps, and the dull chime of kagune blades crossing quinque steel went on for a few moments. Then, one by one, the ghouls started to drop like flies.

A tall muscular ghoul was the first to fall; his massive koukaku was too slow to block the cut to his neck, which nearly beheaded him. Following shortly was a young girl—likely not much older than Eto herself—who received a blow to the temple and rolled in to the dirt with a carved skull. Then a hooded ghoul, who had screamed with rage at the girl's death and tried to strike Arima with his ukaku's talons, plummeted from mid-air in two halves.

In that short moment, Arima turned the drove of predators into his prey. Startled, the remaining two ghouls began to retreat, but Arima glided after them without pause. He swatted away a panicked bikaku swing, then sidestepped and severed the rinkaku tentacles that tried to entrap him. Without a moment's delay, Narukami's blade split open, and Arima fired a bolt of lightning into the rinkaku ghoul's face.

Once her last comrade fell, the other ghoul wasted no time fleeing. As the odor of burnt meat filled the clearing, Arima took aim at his final opponent and fired another powerful bolt towards her. To Eto's astonishment, Arima missed; instead, the projectile hit low-hanging branches that the ghoul ducked under while sprinting off. Wood smoldered and splinters flew, but the ghoul was not injured and managed to escape deeper into the forest.

An uneasy silence settled over the battlefield. By now, enough blood had run into the forest floor to stain the earth a dark crimson. Eto watched as Arima lowered his quinque, and it reassembled into a full blade. For a moment, Arima stood still and tilted his head, as if he were listening for something.

Then, he turned and walked over to the body of the tall ghoul, who Eto then realized was not actually dead yet; though his neck was mostly destroyed, he continued to feebly claw at it, as if hoping to mend the wound by pulling the flesh together.

Without hesitation, Arima buried the flat tip of his quinque down into the ghoul's right eye. There was a faint cough and a very brief convulsion, and then the ghoul went still.

Eto decided that it was not a fight that she just witnessed; it was art. She had faced him herself a week ago, but being able to see all of his movements from the perspective of a bystander made for a very different, and very entertaining experience. As the gratified audience, she gave Arima a standing ovation. Arima tensed and whirled to face her.

"That was very, very cool," Eto said with enthusiasm as she stepped out of the bush. She ended her applause with a final, resounding clap. "A bit quick, but it was nice and brutal, so that's okay."

She returned his distant, unreadable stare with a carefree smirk.

"I have never seen a dove fight like that before," Eto said. "You really are something else, aren't you?"

Arima said nothing. He walked over to his suitcase, which sat at the base of a tree, and placed Narukami back into it. Then he looked back at Eto.

"You were not responsible for that ambush," Arima said.

"I was not," Eto confirmed. She figured that Arima either did not know how to properly acknowledge compliments, or just didn't care to. "I don't know any of these ghouls. And besides, only weaklings or cowards let others do all the fighting for them."

She stepped up close to the investigator so that they stood only a few inches apart, as if she were sizing him up before a duel. She was barely tall enough to reach his chest.

"In other words, investigator," she continued, confidently glaring up at him, "If I did order those pathetic ghouls to ambush you, I would have led the attack myself, and you would have been in _way_ more trouble."

Arima raised his brow. "I somehow doubt that."

"Doubt what? That I would have fought you?"

"No, that I would have been in more trouble if you had been leading them."

Eto bit her lip and blushed indignantly. An arsenal of retorts and challenges sprang to the tip of her tongue, but she managed to hold it. She knew that arguing with somebody as socially detached as Arima would be a waste of time. That, and Eto had to admit that he was right.

Instead, she huffed quietly. Meanwhile, Arima started on the rest of the old trail. The stone steps gradually rose as they followed the sloping earth, and eventually led up to a small hill that bore the shrine.

"We should leave," Arima said, "before the blood draws more of them here."

Eto was delayed for a moment, then rushed after him. Arima glanced at her as she caught up, and blinked at the sight of the limp, bloody arm in her hands.

"What?" Eto asked, as she nibbled happily on the fresh meat. "I'm hungry."

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